Pseudocognitive Lardies

Sometimes it is so unavoidable, the size of him or her, so unbecoming, a rather stupid looking head and face perched on the very top (no neck) of massive layers of porcine lard. They wabble, sideways through the widest door available, and huff and puff in an attempt to gather oxygen to feed the cells of their cognition box which, a sheer misnomer, does not need much of those molecules of life. They spend their lives in quiet desperation by fretting constantly and spitting air of foul and rancid character into the world. The very sadness, if you think about it, of trying to convince the masses when, -though not for lack of trying- one has not even a smidgen of a chance to be successful in deceiving one's own self. You'll recognise them by their pads, fastened to sagging shoulders to make a statement of equality, sadly, in vain.